


Punishment divine

by LigeiaSand



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: A bit of angst in the beginning, Accidental Voyeurism, Angry Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Smut, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jealousy, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, a lot of smut in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LigeiaSand/pseuds/LigeiaSand
Summary: How could he have been so foolish? It was clear as daylight that Jaskier didn’t love women exclusively. It seemed there was only one person in the world Jaskier didn’t include in his panopticum of love. Geralt himself had never got an invitation.Geralt overhears Jaskier sleeping with another man and gets a minor crisis. Jaskier has to save the day. A bit of angst in the beginning, a lot of smut in the end.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 68
Kudos: 1075





	Punishment divine

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks, this is the first fic I am actually brave enough to publish. 
> 
> I just had to get jealous!Geralt out of my head and I have a thing for bottom!Geralt so there I put two and two together. Enjoy!

Geralt gritted his teeth and pressed his eyes shut, but this deprivation of his senses only made the noises from the room next door ring louder in his ears. The hushed voices, the creaking of the floorboards, the shuffling of the mattress which was obviously placed just on the other side of the wall.

He grunted and heaved himself onto his back. He should have been used to Jaskier’s frequent encounters by now, but incomprehensibly his disdain was getting worse. And his own encounters were getting fewer and fewer. He tried not to dwell on the reasons too much.

He was used to witnessing Jaskier chatting up some lovely girl, bedding her and chirping about it in the morning. He just didn’t like being present - separated only by a thin clay wall. It was the worst though when they had to share a room. Usually, he left Jaskier some space, brooding some more in the pub before retreating to their room, bracing himself for the reek of roses, fresh sweat and Jaskier’s release. More than once he turned on his heels and fled to any other place where he could spend the night, and if he just coiled himself up in the straw next to Roach.

He was practised by now to ignore the girly giggles and few sighs, but then the sounds he dreaded the most began to leak through the wall. Jaskier‘s low pitched moans. Geralt was always bound to wonder what Jaskier’s lovers were doing to elicit such sweet approval. He imagined small pale hands roaming over slightly darker skin. Delicate fingernails brushing over downy hair. He couldn’t erase those thoughts, even if he ran into the woods. He had tried. 

But this night, something was different. There were no girly giggles. There were grunts and groans and then…

“Fuck me, bard. Fuck me as hard as you never fucked a girl”, demanded by a distinctively male voice.

Fuck. Jaskier was lying with a man.

Geralt tossed his bedsheets aside and bolted to the window, retching, trying to cool his boiling blood with the chilly night air. No small pale hands, no delicate fingernails. Large, dark hands. Trying to claim. Trying to take away. 

How could he have been so foolish? It was clear as daylight that Jaskier didn’t love women exclusively. Why should he restrict himself by bedding only half the people? It seemed there was only one person in the world Jaskier didn’t include in his panopticon of love. Or maybe, of want, if you favoured a more idealistic concept of love. However, Geralt himself had never got an invitation. He was shaken by another wave of retches, and leant hard against the wall. He couldn’t bear the thought of another man’s hands on Jaskier, but apparently he had to get used to this too.

On the other side of the wall, Jaskier obviously did as he was begged before, fucking hard, skilful and persistent. Geralt stood in the darkness, his hands clenched on the windowsill, breathing heavily through gritted teeth and tried not to flee right in that moment.

After what seemed like an eternity, the moans and groans climbed to a cacophonic climax and subsided.

Geralt went to bed again, but sleep, he didn’t find.

**

The next morning, Geralt already abandoned his porridge and readied Roach for the road, when Jaskier came into the stable. The smile on his face and the spring in his step made Geralt sick. Even more so, as he realised the smile wasn’t radiated at him but at the blond, freckled stable lad who quickly came to greet Jaskier, grinning sheepishly, after-sex glow evaporating of the both of them. Of course, Jaskier preferred his male bed-companions just as the girls; in the spring of their lives, rosy and vibrant.

Geralt took Roach’s bridle and set up a fast pace, making sure Jaskier had to abandon his lover, leaving with hushed love confessions and sweet kisses. At least he still came back to him the morning after… 

It still hurt. So much that Geralt wondered when he had felt this strongly before.

The following nights, Geralt left Jaskier at some inn or tavern, trying really hard not to think about what he was up to, and went straight to the brothel or any other establishment that meant he wouldn’t be disturbed. Not that he enjoyed his stay there. He booked a whore with a room, gave her a generous tip and sent her away, spending the night alone, awake and feeling awful.

His mood went from stale to sour, especially on the mornings where Jaskier reeked not of roses and vanilla but of musk and tar. 

There was no banter anymore, no songs accompanying them on the road, Jaskier too becoming quiet and quieter. 

**

One day, Geralt got a job to hunt down a monster that was terrorising a village near the mountains. 

Jaskier kept him company while he prepared and when they parted, he mumbled “I miss you”, not quite meeting Geralt’s gaze.

“I should be back tomorrow morning”, Geralt replied and took off.

Well, he wasn’t back tomorrow morning. And not the following morning or the one after that. 

When he finally stumbled into their room in the eve of the third day, he was prepared to find Jaskier in anyone’s arms and leave on the spot. For good.

But Jaskier was sitting on the bed. Alone. Lonely. He didn’t even look up when Geralt entered, and huffed “No, I still don’t want anything to eat”, only when he heard the clatter of his bag against the wooden floor he seemed to recognise him and all but flew towards him, embracing him forcefully. 

“I thought you wouldn’t come back. I don’t know what seemed worse, you being killed or you being gone on your own will. I thought…” Jaskier trailed off, yet not letting go.

Geralt was stunned. Jaskier was clinging onto him as if for dear life. The room smelled faintly of booze, but when Geralt dipped his head a bit, burying his nose in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, he could smell only him, clean and sober, with a hint of despair and a flourish of relief.

Geralt felt the relief physically, and sank to his knees, pressing his face into the front of Jaskier’s shirt, bathing in his warmth and smell. But Jaskier stepped back immediately, cupping Geralt’s jaw with one of his capable hands, forcing him to look up into his eyes. It was only then that Geralt noticed the red rim surrounding them and his sorrow-bitten lips. 

“Are you hurt?”, Jaskier asked with a voice bordering on a sob.

“No”, Geralt shook his head slightly. He was exhausted, tired and cold, but it was the first time in weeks that he didn’t feel hurt.

Jaskier huffed and something in his face changed. He let go of Geralt’s jaw and began to undo the buckles of his armour. Geralt let it happen, becoming pliant under the nimble fingers, doing as they had done so often in their first time, where touches meant nothing and Geralt hadn’t coiled up every feeling deep inside him, only masking them with wit and sarcasm when they became too obvious for his liking.

Jaskier didn’t stop when his armour landed on the floor, he continued to strip him from his shirt and Geralt let this happen, too, savouring every brush of his fingertips against his own skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind that dissipated as quickly as they arose.

Geralt didn’t dare to look up, didn’t know what to expect. But surely not the hand in his hair, yanking his head back and Jaskier glaring at him. 

“Geralt of Rivia, you’re a fucking coward. Playing the big untouchable beast and hiding from your own emotions behind walls of muscle and pain. I was on the verge of leaving you, you know?” he scolded, tightening his grip in Geralt’s hair. Geralt heard a moan and realised only moments later that it was his own.

Jaskier lowered his face without breaking the eye contact and pressed his lips onto Geralt’s. He paused for a moment, but when Geralt didn’t flinch, he captured his mouth with force, biting his lips and drinking his moans.

Geralt could only whimper and moan, never had he been so overrun by a kiss before. But well, never had he been kissed by someone he wanted as much as Jaskier and never had he been kissed by lips as strong as his before. He was not able to move, his hands hanging numbly at his sides, his body flush against Jaskier’s, and somewhere against his chest he felt an increasing pressure.

Jaskier manhandled him towards the bed, where Geralt stripped his boots, trousers and underpants in a hurry and scrambled backwards onto the sheets. His mind was foggy with arousal, he felt his cock heavy and hard bumping into his thigh and he looked with a mixture of heat and trepidation up to Jaskier, who had climbed to the bed behind him and was kneeling between his feet, fully clothed. The force radiating from him was ravishing and only emphasized by his anger.

“One kiss, Geralt, and you are already hard and leaking?”, he growled. “Do you know how many nights I had to fake my commitment, thinking about you between some whore’s legs? How many mornings I had to hide my tears behind a sunny smile when you were even more crotchety than the day before?”.

“I didn’t…”, Geralt rasped, but was interrupted by Jaskier’s palm on his thigh, slowly slithering higher.

“Yeah, you didn’t. I figured out that much in the last days. That you could tolerate the women, more or less, but you went rampage when I laid with a man. At first, I thought it was just carnal, marking your territory or something, but then I realised you really were jealous.”

He caressed Geralt’s balls with a soft fingertip, betraying his harsh tone and bend forwards over him. 

“Oh Geralt of Rivia,” - a hand on his shaft - “you scumbag” - fingers closing around his length - “you maggot” - a pumping motion that let him grunt helplessly - “you cheap” - again - “lousy” - again - Geralt groaned and thrust up into Jaskier’s hand.

“Oh no. No no, my lovely Geralt, you are not getting away so easily.” He released his grip on Geralt’s cock, leaving him wanting, the brimming in his veins making him dizzy.

“Jaskier, I need...”, Geralt tried to scramble into a sitting position, but was stopped by a hand on his chest.

“I know what you need, and you will get it, eventually. Until then, don’t move” Jaskier smirked and Geralt felt his cock twitch. “Oh, look at that. The great Geralt of Rivia, getting worked up by a bit of dominance. Who could have known?”

With that, Jaskier reached to his thighs and parted them wider, while his other hand, miraculously slippery with oil, breached his cleft and found his hole. Geralt’s abdominal muscles tightened with the first touch and he let out a low growl, but he did his best to remain still and was granted a kiss to the inside of his knee from Jaskier. 

Jaskier took his time, bathing in the primal energy Geralt only restrained for him. With every inch Jaskier’s finger entered him, every motion of the fingertip, every heated look, Geralt was getting more restless, his ragged breathing turning to groans when Jaskier slid another finger into him. Jaskier circled and bend his fingers, thrust inside and withdrew almost completely, Geralt becoming undone by the minute. His cock lay abandoned and leaking on his defined stomach, his thighs quivering and his chest flushed and sweaty.

And then Jaskier’s fingertips stroked something deep inside him, and Geralt shouted, his muscles tensing, lifting his back from the mattress. When he opened his eyes, sparks fading again, Jaskier’s face was right in front of his, eyes gleaming. 

“Don’t you dare, Geralt, don’t you dare come without my permission.”

Geralt groaned and felt a tad surprised when his cock twitched, he had been sure that he just had spent himself. Jaskier was still circling that tender spot and Geralt didn’t know how long he could hold on, though.

“Please, Jaskier, please, I can’t”, his whole skin felt like it was on fire, drenched in sweat and he couldn’t breathe without making wanton noises.

Jaskier stopped inside him, and kissed him languidly before he retrieved his fingers. Geralt gulped in some air, bracing himself, suspecting what was bound to follow. 

Jaskier opened his flies, oiled up his cock without further notice and brushed Geralt’s entrance with the tip. He placed one hand above Geralt’s carotid and gritted out “Mark my words, Geralt, don’t you dare come before I tell you to.”

The moment Jaskier’s cock slid into him, Geralt tossed his head back and howled. For a fleeting moment he wondered how this could be so different from the soft and controlled time he had spent in bed with women, but then he gave himself over to Jaskier completely. 

Jaskier set a relentless rhythm right from the start, brushing his sensitive spot over and over again. Sometimes, he held Geralt’s knees up to thrust as deep as possible, and then again let himself hover over Geralt, digging his fingernails into his hips, kissing and biting at Geralt’s neck and nipples. 

Geralt whined and pleaded, his head lolling from side to side, his hands white-knuckled in the scrambled sheets. He was stripped of any coherent thought, hadn’t any grain of power left, and he revelled in that feeling. He had never been so content and never felt this free before. Trusting Jaskier with his body, his mind, his everything.

Only moments before he thought he would just burst, he felt Jaskier’s lips on his own. They kissed lavishly, interrupted only by gasps and groans, until Jaskier broke away, grunting “Now, Geralt, come for me, my love.”

And Geralt came. He came so hard, he almost blacked out. Shouting, cramping, arms flailing, and Jaskier held him through it, only to spent himself after two, three more thrusts, and collapse on Geralt’s soiled chest.

“Remind me,“ Geralt grinned, when the world stopped spinning, “not to annoy you again anytime soon. I think I won’t be able to ride for days.”

Jaskier just snickered and kissed Geralt’s nose. “Maybe, you fool. But I won’t need anger as an excuse to fuck you senseless.”

Geralt hummed contently in response. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please, toss a comment to your writer! <3
> 
> I am @LigeiaSand on tumblr, come 'round and say hi!


End file.
